Dear Mum and Dad, We're Sorry
by Yombatable
Summary: "We're sorry. Truly we are. But really, we're just stupid enough to think being together is more important than being with you." Final part of the 'Dear Alistair, I Miss You' Series. ScotEng. One-shot.


**I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH, IF YOU HAVEN'T READ 'Dear Alistair, I Miss You' AND 'Dear Arthur, I Love You' BEFORE READING THIS, THIS WILL MAKE ZERO SENSE. (This has been a PSA)**

 **Holy mother of poop this got sappy, I honestly didn't mean for it to turn out this way, it just did. Either way, at least this is over with now, the boys' ark is tied up about as tight as I can get it, and I made it happy because sad just isn't what I do. (Most of the time...)**

 **(also thanks for pointing that out Mac my ol' pal, you should get an account or something. I hate not being able to reply to you)**

 **Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

 _Dear Mum and Dad,_

 _Although we doubt you still consider yourselves our parents. Not after all the shit we've caused._

 _You may have noticed this letter was sent from Cornwall, suffice to say, we are no longer in Cornwall by the time you're reading this, nor will we be for the considerable future, so don't try to find us there. We guarantee you'll be disappointed._

 _On to the point of this letter;_

 _We're sorry._

 _Truly we are._

 _But really, we're just stupid enough to think being together is more important than being with you, so here we are, currently in Cornwall, collectively writing this letter to you as a sort of closure for you, and ourselves of course. It felt wrong to just leave you without a trace. Not that this is much better, but we hope that it is enough._

 _We really can't offer much else._

 _We're happy, and we hope that that is what you want to hear, well, other than "we're coming home" of course, but the chances of you hearing that is unlikely. Mostly because we fear you'll try to keep us apart again, but also in part because we doubt you'll take us back._

 _We fucked up almost every chance you gave us after all._

 _But we love each other, or some other clichéd bollocks, so we're content to let you keep living, with your other children who aren't as big a disappointment as us. Send our love to Dylan, Seamus and Siobhan, and tell them that we recommend listening to you, you only want what's best for them, we just seem to believe that that doesn't matter. And it doesn't. Not when we get to be together._

 _I could ramble forever about how much I love him, but you don't want to hear my shoddy excuse for poetry. Nor, I doubt, do you want to think about it. If you do, I'm sure you could read any one of my diaries from the last few years, there's plenty of shoddy poetry in those. I left them with you, although I'm sure you've discarded them by now._

 _Alistair asked me to ask you to send them to him, but since we're not including an actual return address I'm not entirely sure what he expects you to do. And I'm not sure that's something I'd ever be able to live down. Please don't attempt to send them to him._

 _Anyway..._

 _I suppose this is goodbye, Mum and Dad._

 _This is us. Together. Telling you goodbye and hoping you the best. We're so sorry, but we honestly don't regret anything. We're happier than we've been in five years and we hope you can forgive us._

 _Thank you for everything you've done for us._

 _Arthur and Alistair._

* * *

Arthur let out a heavy breath as they dropped the letter in the post box, feeling Alistair's arms wrap tightly and comfortingly around his waist, "You're-"

"I'm sure Alistair," Arthur said, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips, "I'm surer of this than I've been of almost anything."

He turned in Alistair's arms, pressing himself to him tightly, and bringing his hands up to cup his face, "I'm just scared I'm taking things away from you." Alistair sighed, squeezing Arthur's waist the smallest amount, "You'll never get to get married, or have kids, and I know how much you love kids, and-"

Arthur cut him off with a short and gentle kiss, "I love kids. It's true. But I love you more, you prat, so stop trying to feel guilty." He smiled pointedly, an amused expression taking over his features.

Alistair huffed out a laugh, pressing his lips to Arthur's forehead, "Okay, okay. I'll try." He squeezed Arthur waist a little again, smiling sadly, "But no promises."

Arthur mirrored his expression, pushing himself up on his toes and kissing Alistair again, longer this time, a painful ache coming between them, "Are _you_ sure, Alistair?"

Alistair seemed conflicted for a moment, a frown passing over his face as he pressed their foreheads together, "Yes," he said hesitantly.

Arthur bit his lip, "I mean are you _sure_?"

Alistair frowned again, but this time it had a hardness to it, a determination behind the crinkle of his brow, "Yes," he said, meeting Arthur's eyes, "Yes, I'm sure. I'm completely sure that I want nothing more than to be with you."

Arthur smiled, a huge, wide smile which lit up his eyes, "Shit, we're running away together!" he laughed, "I never thought I'd get to run away with somebody, this is like Romeo and Juliet if Romeo hadn't been an absolute pillock."

Alistair snorted, nuzzling their noses together, "As long as I get to be Romeo."

"Well you're both pillocks, it seems fitting."

Alistair laughed, "Says you," he walked backwards a few steps before releasing Arthur and taking his hand so they could go home, wherever they decided home would be, "Alistair, Alistair, where for art thou, Alistair?"

Arthur chuckled, "That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. That is, if it didn't smell like you."

Alistair pushed Arthur playfully, "Get off it, you cheeky sod."

Arthur snorted into his hand, "Okay, fine," he said, releasing Alistair's hand, "Last one home has to give the other a blowjob!" he announced, and raced off toward the hotel.

Alistair stood in shock for the briefest moment before racing after him, "You're twenty-one, you're not supposed to be such a little shit!" he called.

"And you're twenty-five, you're not supposed to be such a geriatric, but here we are."

Just before they reached the door to their hotel, Alistair caught Arthur by the arm and pulled him back, both of them laughing. Arthur bit his lip, leaning into Alistair's chest with a heavy breath, "I'm sure."

Alistair let out a questioning noise.

Arthur smiled, looking up at his brother, "I said, I'm sure. I'm glad we ran away together."

Alistair grinned, "Me too."

* * *

They lived in Glasgow for a while, their days becoming routine, and sometimes they even forgot that anything about _them_ was unusual. Their friends didn't know they were brothers, they didn't look that much alike really, except for their eyes, and so they never had any reason to believe that the two of them were anything but regular lovers. Arthur finished university, with a degree in English literature and a half-finished novel, and Alistair held a job in a mechanics.

Together they got by, albeit scarcely.

When Arthur got his book published (anonymously, and without pictures, there could never be too many precautions taken) and it got reasonably popular, they moved into a house rather than the shitty one-bedroom flat they had last lived in, and bought two cats, Scottish folds, brothers, and arseholes if either of them were being honest, but they loved them as if they were their own sons.

Together they made a family, albeit a slightly strange one.

They lived that way for many years. Arthur wrote moderately successful books, Alistair worked as a mechanic, and their cats killed harmless birds for pleasure. The day that Alistair found his first grey hair it had taken a round of sex that they hadn't had since their twenties to convince him he was still plenty young. The day that Alistair found that his hair was nothing but grey all it took was a soft kiss to convince him he didn't need to be young anymore.

Together they grew old, albeit less than gracefully.

When Alistair was laying in a hospital bed, a vaguely irritating beeping coming from the machines at his side, Arthur didn't do much but hold his hand. He stroked the wrinkles on the hand tenderly as the other slept, and when he didn't wake up Arthur didn't let go. A few years later, when Arthur found himself in the same situation, he did so with a smile.

Together they lived, albeit constantly looking over their shoulders.

But...

Together they lived, perfectly happy.

* * *

 **End.**


End file.
